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Updated: May 19, 2025
Sutton took no manner of notice of the customary form of placing one's hand under his elbow and pressing gently up. Summoning up his courage, Mr. Wetherell tried the second method of seizing him by the buttonhole. He paused in his harangue, one hand uplifted, and turned and glanced at the storekeeper abstractedly. "Mr.
Yes, and Jethro came. Day by day he would come silently into the room, and sit silently for a space, and go as silently out of it. The farms were neglected now on Thousand Acre Hill. William Wetherell would take his hand, and speak to him, but do no more than that. There were times when Cynthia leaned over him, listening as he breathed to know whether he slept or were awake.
I'm going to be in Washington a day or two will you go walking with me to-morrow morning, Miss Wetherell?" "She's going walking with me," said Bob, not in the best of tempers. "Then I'll go along," said Mr. Duncan, promptly. By this time Cynthia got up and was holding out her hand to Bob Worthington. "I'm not going walking with either of you," she said "I have another engagement.
Wetherell seemed to feel again the thrill he felt when he saw the blue-clad men of this state crowded in the train at Boston: and to hear again the cheers, and the sobs, and the prayers as he looked upon the blood that stained stars and stripes alike with a holy stain. With that blood the country had been consecrated, and the state yes, and the building where they stood.
"Are you the son of Dudley Worthington" "Everybody asks me that," he said; "I'm tired of it. When I grow up, they'll have to stop it." "But you should be proud of your father." "I am proud of him, everybody's proud of him, Brampton's proud of him he's proud of himself. That's enough, ain't it?" He eyed Wetherell somewhat defiantly, then his glance wandered to Cynthia, and he walked over to her.
Jameson was interrupted, as he no doubt expected, by applause from floor and gallery. He stood rubbing his hands together, and it seemed to William Wetherell that the Speaker did not rap as sharply with his gavel as he had upon other occasions. "Gentlemen of the House," continued Mr.
Bob went into that little room where Jethro and Cynthia had spent so many nights together, and his glance flew straight to the picture on the wall, the portrait of Cynthia Wetherell in crimson and seed pearls, so strangely set amidst such surroundings. His glance went to the portrait, and his feet followed, as to a lodestone.
But we shall come to that later. Supper first, in a great pillared dining room filled with notables, if we only had the key. Jethro sits silent at the head of the table eating his crackers and milk, with Cynthia on his left and William Wetherell on his right.
"Alvy," said Jethro, again, "'Uncle Tom's Cabin' comes to town to-morrow." Mr. Hopkins stopped fanning himself, and glanced at Jethro questioningly. "A-Alvy, that give you an idea?" said Jethro, mildly. Mr. Wetherell looked blank: it gave him no idea whatsoever, except of little Eva and the bloodhounds.
Wetherell knocked timidly at Number 7, drawn thither by an irresistible curiosity, the door was opened by a portly person who wore a shining silk hat and ample gold watch chain.
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